She managed a small smile as she touched the back of her neck. ‘Queen Charlotte had a strong reaction to my mother’s perfume...it caused her to sneeze. And, according to my mother, her second sneeze was so strong that it blew off one of the feathers in Mama’s hair. The Lord Chamberlain had to fetch it for her. Mama said that she was so embarrassed, but Queen Charlotte smiled at her and said,“Well, I shan’t forget you.”And she didn’t. When Mama married Papa she was presented again, as the Countess of Rockingham. Queen Charlotte gave her another rare smile and told Papa that they were old acquaintances. When I was little, my mother would put a feather in my hair and we would pretend that I was being introduced to the Queen.’
‘I am afraid that Queen Charlotte is not quite as fond of our family,’ Wick said with a smirk. ‘She and the King did not get on very well with their eldest son and heir, the Prince Regent, even before King George III went mad. And, like I told you, my mama is a great friend of the Regent’s...despite their different views on almost every political subject.’
Louisa couldn’t help but meet his gaze, leaning closer to him. ‘Really?’
He took a few steps towards her, closing the distance between them. ‘I can tell you from first-hand experience that I have never met a more personable man than the Prince Regent—nor a more juvenile one. But he’s an odd mixture of parts and will probably make a terrible king.’
Louisa gasped at his honesty and covered her mouth with one shaking hand. He was standing close enough that she could smell him: a musky mixture of vanilla and vetiver. His nearness filled all her senses.
Wick laughed and rendered her breathless by gently tucking a curl behind Louisa’s ear. ‘I wouldn’t say so to my mother, of course.’
He had touched her!
Gloved... But still, he hadtouchedher.
‘Never,’ she whispered.
He stepped back and bowed to her again.
Without thinking, Louisa curtsied in return.
Wick took her hand and pressed a soft kiss to the back of her glove. She could have happily died on the spot.
‘Perfect,’ he said. ‘All you needed was a little distraction to settle your nerves. Now you’ll be the most elegant lady at all thetonparties.’
Her chest swelled with pride. She had done it. The gawky girl without a proper governess had managed a curtsy worthy of a lady. If only Aunt Rockingham could see her now. But she would still probably find something about Louisa to criticise.
Glancing over her shoulder, she asked, ‘Should we join your sisters at cards?’
‘Oh, please, no. They are not currently arguing, and I would hate to interrupt a perfectly harmonious game.’
Louisa couldn’t help but giggle. She was relieved that he wanted to stay with her. She doubted that she would ever tire of his conversation or company.
Wick gestured with his hand to the sofa nearest the fire. ‘Shall we sit? We can talk...or I can fetch a couple of books.’
‘I should l-like to talk,’ she managed to say, before sitting down. She knew it was foolish, but she wanted to get to know him better.
He sat down beside her, not quite touching her leg, but close enough for her to enjoy his masculine scent again. Louisa’s breathing was irregular and her face felt hot again. She needed to focus on something else—anything else but him.
Leaning down, she pulled the needle out of the inside of her hem. ‘Would you mind if I finished embroidering these handkerchiefs while we converse?’
‘Not at all,’ he said, grinning at her. ‘Do you always keep a needle in the hem of your gown?’
Louisa threaded the needle and pulled the first stitch through. The steady tension of the thread helped calm her racing pulse, but her hands were still shaking from his nearness.
‘I was always mending at Greystone Hall...it seemed wise to have my favourite needle handy.’
‘To make a plain cloth beautiful or to mend something that is torn is truly a wonderful gift. Few people have the ability to repair what is wrong in the world.’
She kept her head lowered, unable to look him in the face. ‘You give my skill too much credit.’
‘Or perhaps you give yourself too little,’ he said, bumping his knee with hers.
It felt warm and hard. She wished he would rest his knee against hers.
‘Besides, we are all more than the measure of our talents. How we treat others... Who we are kind to... How we fulfil our responsibilities to those who depend upon us... My parents taught me that those are truly the things that must be measured.’
‘You are clearly not a seamstress,’ Louisa said, glancing up at him with a half-smile. ‘For everything must be measured precisely if a garment is to fit properly.’